


Legends Rise: the good, the bad, and their choices

by nagemeikenu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 16:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagemeikenu/pseuds/nagemeikenu
Summary: Based on the song "Legends Rise" by Godsmack, follow Draco in his journey to becoming a legend like the Chosen One, Harry Potter. It's not the legend he intended to be, but he will always be remembered.Just like he always wanted...right?





	Legends Rise: the good, the bad, and their choices

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic was beta'd by the amazing loveless, [ , and y'all should follow this wonderful bean on tumblr as well! ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelessinqueens/pseuds/lovelessinqueens)[ @loveless](https://lovelessinmanhattan.tumblr.com/)  
Hope you enjoy the story!!!!

_Legs are tied, these hands are broken_  
_Alone I try with words unspoken_  
_Silent cry, my breath is frozen_  
_With blinded eyes, I fear myself_

“Draco,” the voice broke through his thoughts. He simply lifted his gaze to meet Blaise’s. It took a moment to process the concern, not only from him, but from Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle as well. Even as his stomach churned, he sent them a cool smile.

“I’m fine; just daydreaming about getting out of here.” His smile turned into a well-practiced sneer, “Hogwarts is one thing. The real world is another. Can’t wait to get out of here.” 

Perhaps his little speech wasn’t convincing anymore—his friends simply exchanged worried glances before settling in to discuss post-graduation dreams. He let the conversation take him away from his thoughts momentarily, but he knew that he’d be back to focusing more on what he had to do by the end of the year before too long. He pushed that aside, and snarked at Goyle.

By the end of the year, it would be okay. He just had to make it until then.

By the end of the year, he had blood on his hands. He could feel the start of his legendary journey, and couldn’t help but want to sob from it’s darkness.

_It's burning down, it's burning high_  
_When ashes fall the legends rise_  
_We burned it out oh my oh why_  
_When ashes fall the legends rise_

He coughed. Crabbe was struggling with his wand and wisps of flames licking at everything. The smoke seemed to attack, too—where was safe? How had following Potter into the Room of Requirement come down to this? It was madness. The Killing Curses were out of line. It only took him seconds to grasp that this fire was worse. 

“Aguamenti!” he cried out, uselessly. He watched the water simply evaporate in face of the flames. There was no way to stop it. He looked up, and found the only solution he could. Grabbing at his friends’ shoulders, he started climbing up, scrambling when the purchase was questionable at best. With his heart racing, he tried to keep reaching for them, keeping them moving upwards. He could only think, _Get higher than the smoke, get away_— and kept moving towards the top of the pile. There wasn’t a plan for after getting to the top, that was all he had. Mind whirling, he looked up. _Wasn’t there something, anything that could get them out of here?_

**CRACK!**

His head whipped around, just in time to see Crabbe swallowed by the flames. Goyle was on his right, hand still reaching out. The terror he felt was mirrored on Goyle’s face. 

“Up,” he managed, “up, you git.” 

Together they made it to the top of the pile. The only good thing about that was that he wouldn’t die alone here. There was nothing here that could help, until three broomsticks whizzed by. He barely heard Weasley shout, “If we die for them, Harry, I’ll kill you!” as the broomsticks came racing back. Both of them were grabbed, and suddenly he was clinging to the Chosen One like a lover. Suddenly the fire wasn’t the only reason his body temperature rose. Gulping for air, he tried to fight that thought out of his head—there was no chance, none, and that wasn’t important now anyway—and was shocked when he was thrown off, slammed into the floor while the Room of Requirement’s door closed with finality.

“Crabbe…” his voice shook.

“He’s dead,” Weasley’s voice was sharp, but it got Draco breathing and mind clearing. He stood, and silently walked away with Goyle closely behind him. The war wasn’t over, and Draco had a sinking feeling that it was going to come down to more than one lost friend.

_Throat is dry, my vision's fading_  
_I'm paralyzed and left here waiting_  
_Taking time just one step forward_  
_Won't lose my mind, I'm here to stay_

The castle was so quiet, he felt like a ghost. He could see the Great Hall, where everyone mourned and held each other. The sense that had always been inside him grew stronger—he was making a mistake. It was a horrid sensation that mimicked nausea, and he hated it. Of course he knew that the world would be darker with Voldemort in charge. The way his parents had explained it, the only way to get through it was to pick the winning side from the beginning. Voldemort had powers anyone else could barely think of. There was no competition, the only way he’d get through was to side with the more powerful wizard. God, he hated that. The tattoo on his arm moved sinuously along to the inside of his elbow, reminding him he already had a place. For better or for worse, his fate was sealed. To distract himself, he told himself it would be best to keep a lookout. It would be very helpful to have a first-hand knowledge of what was happening in the Forest. 

Briefly, he wondered if Harry—if _Potter_—would be stupid enough to take Voldemort up on the offer. With a slight smile, he knew the answer was yes. Self-sacrificing, Chosen One Potter wouldn’t give that up. The ghost of a smile vanished—Potter was as good as dead. After that, anyone left in the Great Hall was doomed. He turned back for a moment, watching the Weasley family weep over a body with Granger. His gut twisted, and he forced himself to walk to an opening. _Get a vantage point. Take control of something, anything, and get yourself together. This isn’t over._

Thanks to that thinking, he saw the procession of Death Eaters, led by the Dark Lord. He saw his parents, walking with pale faces and determined expressions. There was Hagrid, a useless teacher—but he was carrying—

**NO.**

_It's burning down, it's burning high_  
_When ashes fall the legends rise_  
_We burned it out oh my oh why_  
_When ashes fall the legends rise_  
_Legends rise_  
_Legends rise_

__

__

_ You gonna do something about it or just stand there and bleed?_

He didn’t know how, but he was standing with the crowd. Voldemort called his name, beckoned him forward. Stiffly, he stepped towards the Dark Lord, seeing his parents encouraging him and the gleeful smiles of the Death Eaters encroaching on the space between him and Voldemort. He didn’t like the way the Dark Lord embraced him, he didn’t like that he was moving towards his family. He didn’t like that Harry—that _Potter_—was dead, even though he’d known it would happen. His stomach was doing a series of somersaults, and his mind was blank. He turned to face the rest of the crowd, watched with an empty mind as Longbottom gave a mad speech. He was vaguely aware of the Silencing charms breaking, of Longbottom drawing a sword from the Sorting Hat and being blasted backwards. Then Harry’s body hit the ground. _Did Hagrid drop him? But—but he’s running—what the—_

Dizzily he looked at the ground and saw it. The wood was smooth in his hand, and warm to the touch. His mind still blank, he looked in every direction possible until—

_There!_ Then his arm was flinging something towards Harry, and Harry being the best Seeker the bloody school had seen caught it. Finally, his brain clicked back—and his stomach had stopped churning at some point—and he whirled, sent a jinx towards the other Death Eaters. He was sprinting towards the school, sending wild curses towards the crowd of black. Suddenly Voldemort had vanished, and Harry—_Potter_—was nowhere to be found. What he could see were his parents fleeing. Part of him wanted to join them. The rest of him knew he’d made his choice. 

For once, he made a choice he didn’t disagree with, and he’d stick to it now. Gritting his teeth, he chased after Greyback. He had his own ledger to balance there.

_It's burning down, it's burning high_  
_When ashes fall the legends rise_  
_We burned it out oh my oh why_  
_When ashes fall the legends rise_

_Legends rise  
Legends rise_

The trial was surprisingly short, and he’d been inclined to believe it was because no one had taken the stand in his defense. Of course, he hadn’t seen that bit. Apparently witness testimonials were done privately just to protect them. Not that they needed protection from him. He remembered—he wasn’t the only ex-Death Eater around. In any case, the trial had taken less than two hours. That had been expected. Deliberation had taken a minute, once he’d been brought back inside and saw that the last of the council exiting the chamber. That left Minister Shacklebolt staring him down. Drawing on the knowledge that, though it was far too late, he had done the right thing in the end. He could do this. The Council filed back in silently. A breath came in through his nose and out through barely parted lips.

“Has the Council reached a decision?” Minister Shacklebolt’s voice echoed with no effort.

“Yes, Minister,” a woman spoke from Draco’s left, and he closed his eyes.

He couldn’t believe the verdict. His eyes flashed open, and the next thing he knew he was hearing the Minister of Magic tell him calmly that he was free to go. Mind completely blank, he managed to walk out of the building. Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” the voice registered in his brain. Turning, he was face to face with Harry bloody Potter.

“You alright?” Draco managed to understand that Harry—_Potter_ was actually concerned.

“Er, yes,” he stuttered, “just surprised, really.” His heart was racing. The Chosen One had shown up for his trial.

“Are you?” Harry took his hand off Draco’s shoulder and slid it into a pocket, “why?”

“You’re going to stand there and tell me I don’t belong in Azkaban?” Draco was shocked.

“Yes,” Harry’s brow knitted, “I testified on your behalf.”

“You…” Draco stared, “you what?”

“I testified for you. So did Neville, Ron and Hermione. All of us know that you turned, that you changed in that battle. You took down Greyback, saved Lavender Brown’s life. That’s huge, without even mentioning you threw me my wand.” Harry stared at Draco like he was something he’d never encountered before and needed to understand completely. It made him feel very small. He wasn’t sure this intense gazing was at all what he fantasized about in the very dark hours of night.

“All of you…testified on my behalf,” he spoke slowly.

“Yes,” Harry nodded.

“Thank you,” Draco somehow remembered his manners, “I just…why? I was…I am…”

“You _were_ manipulated and misinformed throughout your childhood,” Harry told him, “None of us realized…you may have been rich but…that doesn’t guarantee happiness, does it?”

“I never expected you to…” Draco swallowed, “I just…”

“Want to go for a drink?” After hearing those words, Draco couldn’t breathe. He was quite proud of the bobble-head nod, actually—he’d responded when obviously responding was fucking impossible.

And then there they were, sitting in the Leaky Cauldron. Draco thought it was an odd place for opposite legends to meet, but then, legends never started where they were expected to.


End file.
